


My Lord Somerset

by branloaf



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Henry do be more chill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branloaf/pseuds/branloaf
Summary: It is well known that Henry VII and Elizabeth of York had two sons, Arthur and Henry. What is commonly forgotten, however, is that they had a third son: Prince Edmund. Dying in his infancy before he had a chance to be known, the prince has been largely disregarded by history. But what if circumstances were different and he survived? This is the story of Prince Edmund Tudor.
Relationships: Catherine of Aragon/Henry VIII of England, Elizabeth of York Queen of England/Henry VII of England
Comments: 34
Kudos: 52





	1. March 1509

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Mary and Prince Edmund are summoned to court by their grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, as their father’s condition worsens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for popping in! This story is planned to have around 35 chapters, however it may change as I write them. It will definitely be between 30 and 40 chapters overall!

March, 1509

The two youngest children of King Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth of York are greeted amicably as they reach Richmond Palace. Accompanied by their staff and tutors, Princess Mary and Prince Edmund made the haste journey at the request of their grandmother, Margaret Beaufort. Ever since the death of his eldest son, Prince Arthur, the king’s health had been steadily declining, with a severe bout of illness plaguing him every winter. It was feared by Margaret that this particular onset of symptoms would be the ones to finally pull him to his grave, thus prompting her to summon her grandchildren to Richmond so they may be near their father in his suspected final weeks.

The ten year old Duke of York is helped off his horse, keen to stretch his legs after the journey. Edmund, the exact likeness of his father, is every inch the Lancastrian Prince, unlike his brother Henry, who is much more similar to his York ancestors. Waiting a few moments for his sister to join him, the two then make their way into the palace, eager to escape the early spring chill.

The court is not as lively as Edmund remembered it to be. The last time he visited the court was Christmastide the previous year; while his father was not able to attend all the festivities, the court was still a vibrant place, filled with excitement and activity. It was the opposite now. While the truth about the King's condition has been kept a secret, the court still feels the effects of it. There is a palpable gloominess, and walking through the Great Hall, usually full of energy and colour, Edmund feels like he has been transported to another world. 

At the advice of the men in the stables, the pair make their way through the palace towards the Queen's chambers, intent on greeting their mother. Practically reigning as Queen regnant at times due to her husband's condition frequently flaring up, Elizabeth of York had become more of an idea than a real person to her two youngest children, who had seen very little of her since Prince Arthur's death. Neither child exhibited much excitement over seeing their mother for the first time in months. 

"Your Grace." Mary greets on behalf of both herself and Edmund as the two curtsy and bow respectively. There are no warm familial greetings between the three. Elizabeth returns with a polite, "Edmund, Mary," and gestures for her ladies to leave her chamber. 

"I am to assume you have heard the news of your father, the King?" Elizabeth sits, motioning for Edmund and Mary to do the same. Her business-like demeanour makes the conversation feel like one of state, rather than personal, importance. 

“Yes, Your Grace. My Lady the King’s Mother urged us to travel here as soon as possible.” Edmund responds.

Elizabeth’s hardened, regal exterior cracks just slightly. “He is gravely ill, children. I fear if it is not his lungs which kill him, it would certainly be his inability to eat.” 

It had always surprised Edmund to see how much his parents cared for one another, especially after learning about his family’s history of the previous century. Looking at his mother now, he was still surprised by it. Despite her emotionless façade, Edmund could see the worry and helplessness in her eyes. Eyes that were so much like his own, yet not. Glancing over at his sister, Mary, he found the same eyes staring back at him. 

“May we see him, Lady Mother?” Edmund asks, turning his head back to Elizabeth. The personal address of kin appears to soften the Queen, as if she has just remembered that she is speaking to her children, and not acquaintances. 

“The King is being attended to by his physicians presently. I shall send someone to you afterward so you may visit him.” Edmund and Mary both give their thanks.

“Is he afflicted by the same ailments as the last time?” Mary asks. 

“I am afraid so. And they seem to worsen with every day that passes.” Elizabeth rises, royal protocol ensuring that her two children do also. Stepping towards them, she takes one of their hands each within her own. “I am so glad you are both here. Please pray for your father’s recovery, children. Until then, the King’s Mother has organised rooms for you here at Richmond. Settle in, and then perhaps you can join me for supper?” 

Mary and Edmund agree with their mother’s suggestion, and bid her farewell, being led to their temporary lodgings by one of the Queen’s ladies. Following the young woman, the two whisper between themselves. 

“I cannot believe our mother asked us to have supper with her!” Hisses Mary. “I fail to remember when she last expressed an interest in us.”

“She is our mother, Mary, of course she would have an interest in us. She has not seen us since the New Year.” Edmund says, his voice hopeful. 

“Oh, Edmund.” Mary states, a clear belittling tone in her voice. While most of the time, the three year age gap between the two of them was not the cause of much conflict, it became extremely evident now. Barely six years old when Arthur died, Mary had faint memories of her mother before she became the distant figure she is now. Edmund on the other hand, had no memories of the doting parent she used to be. This led to a tenseness between them whenever Elizabeth of York was mentioned; although Edmund understood the customs he and his parents must follow as members of the royal family, he still held his mother in high regard. Mary, on the other hand, held a slight resentment towards Elizabeth, and her clear favouritism of their older brother, Henry. 

“Here you are, my Lord.” The lady turns around towards the prince, bowing her head and gesturing to a closed door beside her. 

He nods a thanks to the lady, and does the same to Mary, murmuring a polite, “sister,” before he enters the room. 

It is a modest chamber. Nowhere near that of his mother’s where he had just been, but comfortable for a boy of his status. Inside, two ladies are finishing preparing the bed, while a third has her attention on the fireplace. Noticing his entrance, they all pause their work and curtsy, waiting for his permission to continue which he quickly grants. 

As the women soon after leave the chamber, a man enters followed by two men in green and white Tudor livery carrying a chest. Edmund’s face lights up at the presence of his closest friend, George Stanley. The grandson of Margaret Beaufort’s late husband, George was brought to Eltham when Edmund started his formal education, so the prince would have a male companion closer in age than the adults who usually accompanied him. Almost sixteen, the dark haired boy was beloved by Edmund, and where one was, the other was sure to follow. 

“Good day, Ned.” George swipes his cap off his head and gives his friend a quick bow. “I’ve organised for your most favoured belongings to be brought to your chamber. As well as a change of clothes and linens.”

Edmund watches the men set down the chest and open it, revealing crimson robes similar to the ones he is currently wearing. 

“Thank you, George.” Turning his attention to the two men, he orders, “I should like to change now.”

They obey, removing the robes from the chest, and helping Edmund change into them. Feeling fresher after a change of clothes, the boy sits on the bed. 

“I am to have supper with my mother, the Queen.” He tells George. “She says she fears for the King’s life.”

George hesitates, unsure of what to say to his friend. “His Grace has recovered from similar ailments in the past, Ned. I am quite sure he will be well.”

Despite having limited contact with his father throughout his life, Edmund had grown to admire and respect him, and the thought of losing him pained him more than he could bear. Sensing his worry, George stepped forward, placing his hand on Edmund’s shoulder. 

“You mustn’t worry, my Lord. Our prayers will see him strengthen again.”

There is a knock at the door, which George goes to answer. It is one of the Queen’s ladies, asking after Prince Edmund as the Queen is preparing for her supper. With a few more reassuring words from George, Edmund follows the woman, trailing her back to where he was only an hour ago. 

Walking into Elizabeth of York’s privy chamber, he is greeted by his mother, Mary, and, unexpectedly, his brother, Henry, who rises from his seat and playfully pulls his brother into a hug. 

“Edmund! How are you, brother?” 

Edmund may be tall for his age, but he is still nowhere near the height of his older brother, who towers over him. Looking up at him, he replies, “I am quite well, Your Highness.” 

“Henry.” He insists, patting him on the shoulder. 

The two brothers certainly had an odd relationship. The few years they spent together at Eltham were divided by their eight year age gap; while Henry was learning swordsmanship and practicing archery, Edmund was still suckling from his wet nurse. And yet, they possessed a solidarity between them caused by them both sharing the title of Duke of York, a title saved for the “spare.” Remembering how ignored he felt watching his brother Arthur receive all the attention as Prince of Wales, Henry always made an effort to ensure his younger brother did not feel the same as he took over the position. There was, therefore, a mutual respect between the two, as each acknowledged the other’s position and how they were regarded because of it. 

The brothers go to their seats opposite each other. The four eat pleasantly, making an effort to not talk about the King in their mealtime conversation. The topic drifts to Katherine of Aragon, who is waiting to be churched. Thanks to Elizabeth of York, the betrothal between Prince Henry and the Spanish widow had been pushed through, and the pair married just after Henry’s seventeenth birthday. Not long after, Katherine revealed herself to be with child, and during Christmastide, Edmund remembered her pregnancy being big news at court, with her swollen belly beginning to show, and her face glowing with joy. The happiness was not to last, however, as the princess delivered a stillborn boy in February, shortly before entering her confinement. Despite the loss, Henry does not appear burdened by it, and instead shares that he has no doubt they will soon have a son. 

After supper, Elizabeth tells her children they may visit their father. Edmund’s stomach churns, nervous as to what he may see. Elizabeth leads them through to the King’s chambers, where only Margaret Beaufort accompanies her son in his bedchamber. 

King Henry is propped up by his pillows on his bed, almost completely swallowed up by the blankets covering his frail body. His eyes flick over to his visitors. 

“Elizabeth.” His voice comes out hoarse and breathy. She steps forward, leaving her children huddled near the doorway, nervous to step forward. Reaching her hand out, she grabs that of her husbands, his bony fingers far colder than the rosary beads wrapped around them. 

“Edmund and Mary are here, Henry.” She looks over and beckons them forward. They creep up beside their mother, with the younger Henry moving to stand beside his grandmother, who is knelt on the other side of the King’s bed, clutching his hand. 

“My children.” Edmund’s ears almost sting at the words. The fondness he usually addressed him with was veiled behind the pain of simply speaking, being practically stripped away entirely, just as his voice was stripped down to merely a whisper. 

“We will be staying here till you are well, Father.” Mary, just like her mother, is able to mask the fear and uncertainty in her voice, speaking as though this is a mere cold that he will quickly recover from. 

“You both have grown.” The King notes. It may have only been a matter of weeks since he last saw the pair, but his comment was certainly true. Mary had been rapidly blooming into womanhood since her menarche, and Edmund was growing out of his clothes almost faster than the time it took to make them. 

Mary continues her polite conversation with her father, but Edmund can barely speak. It takes a nudge from his sister to mumble out a, “I am well, Father,” when he is asked. The sight of the withering king is too much for him. His mind is plagued with the thoughts of his demise, that a man who fought so fiercely for everything he has, and returned England to peace, will die of a mortal disease. He is not deserving of such a death. Glancing over at his brother, Edmund wonders what will come of him when Henry succeeds to the throne. The second son of the man who reclaimed the throne for Lancaster and united the houses. Certainly not the hoped for combination of both houses that they got in Arthur, but Henry is most definitely beloved by the people of England. He was confident in his brother’s ability to rule; that is what his mother’s priority had been for the last seven years, after all. But what about Edmund himself? He couldn’t help the anxiety that grew over the thought of his life after his father’s death. But most of all: he admired the man. Although he saw him quite irregularly, and did not know much about him on a personal level, he still was proud to be his son. 

“All will be well.” Elizabeth’s words pull Edmund out of his thoughts. He can’t remember what had been said beforehand to prompt the response, but the words are reassuring. His eyes catching on his parent’s clasped hands, with Henry’s rosary beads poking through their fingers, he is reminded of the strength of prayer, and that if his father does not survive, then Edmund must not question God’s will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Elizabeth of York is still alive in this story... I’m making the most of the butterfly effect here! :)


	2. April 1509 - July 1509

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Henry VII is dead, and his son - Edmund’s older brother - has succeeded him, leaving the ten-year-old prince in a new role, with more loss to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does jump around a bit, I guess you could say it’s basically a number of scenes I think are important for the story while I left out others that I didn’t want or know how to write. Hopefully it doesn’t take away from the story too much!

April 1509

King Henry is dead. It is the first thing Edmund is told when he wakes up, George gently waking the boy and delivering the news he received from Princess Mary. 

“It was not long after you retired for bed. You mustn’t say anything about it publicly yet, as it is not to be announced for a few days.” 

Edmund rubs his eyes. His mind is still fuzzy from sleep, and it takes him a few moments to process what George has just told him. 

“My father is dead?” Is all he can groggily stammer out. It doesn’t come as a complete surprise to him; the last time he saw him, he looked as though he was a breath away from death. Nevertheless, it was still a shock. 

“I am sorry, my Lord.”

His first thought is to reach for his cloak and head for the chapel, however his duty to the crown immediately crushes that idea. No, he must pretend all is normal. The Tudor dynasty is weak, and every precaution must be taken to ensure his brother’s smooth succession. He must grin and bear it. Edmund understands that. 

Brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face, he sighs, his shoulders drooping low as he slides his legs off the bed, keeping his head lowered towards the ground. 

“Then I shall wear something colourful today, George. I will give no indication to the court I am in mourning.” 

George bows his head and leaves the chamber, a groom entering moments later with clean undergarments. Edmund rises from the bed and makes his way towards him. Moving autonomously, his mind whirring, he allows the groom to strip him of his night garments and begin to harshly rub him down with a linen cloth. Usually one to complain about the pressure of the exfoliation, Edmund instead offers no protests, still trying to process the news. By the time the groom has finished and Edmund is in his fresh hose and shirt, George has reentered. 

“How should you like this, my Lord?” Edmund comes out of his thoughts long enough to look over at the deep green tunic and nod his head. The two help dress the young prince, making him look just like the son of the King he is. Brother of the King, he tells himself.

The day drags on slowly, and Edmund spends most of the day keeping to himself, moving between the chapel adjoining the King’s rooms, and his own chamber. Although he understands the need to keep the news of his father’s death quiet, it still pains him to pretend all is normal. 

Visiting his father’s private chapel late morning, he encounters his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort. She kneels on the stone floor, fervently praying. Wearing a wimple and black gown, she would easily give the appearance of being in mourning, if it were not for that being her usual style of dress. Margaret is most certainly the most pious woman Edmund knows, and there is a sense of relief within him at her religiosity; he has no doubt that even without the masses his father had bequeathed, the power of Margaret’s prayer means his soul is secure. 

The two pray together, and afterwards Margaret tells her grandson they will not have to keep up this illusion of normalcy for long, only as they ensure his brother’s succession. The words are of little comfort.

It is, therefore, a huge relief for Edmund when, a few days later, he is brought black mourning robes, and George tells him the news is out. They attend mass and spend some time in the chapel afterwards, now freely able to mourn the late King. 

Returning from the chapel, Edmund encounters his brother. The King, he tells himself. Aware of the people around them, Edmund drops down on one knee, pulling off his cap and bowing his head. “Your Grace,” he says with complete obedience. “I am your ever humble servant.” This country has not had a peaceful succession in almost a century, and Edmund did not want any doubt in anyone’s minds that his brother’s would be the first, in this newfound peace, of many to come. 

"Rise, dear brother. I thank you for your fealty." Henry looks as though he is about to leave, then pauses. "Tell me, will you be staying with the court, or returning to Eltham? It is your choice." 

Edmund frowns. Up until now, he had assumed he would return to Eltham. That is what he had thought his mother would request. 

Henry notices the boy's hesitation. "Take some time to consider what you will do, and let me know. I will provide you with accommodations better fitted to your rank if you are to stay at court permanently." 

"Thank you, Your Grace." Edmund bows his head, and Henry does in return before he leaves. 

That evening, Edmund eats supper with George in his chamber. After spending his day fasting, it is his first meal of the day. The pair discuss Edmund's living options. 

"I don't know if I would like to stay at court. But I do not particularly want to remain at Eltham either." 

"You should stay here, methinks." George says before taking a bite of cheese. "I expect it will not be long till Princess Mary is married, and from then until Queen Katherine has children, it will be only us at Eltham… and I do not expect any infant nieces and nephews you will have to be much in the way of company. And what can you learn there that you cannot learn at court alongside your brother? It appears to me that he favours you quite so." 

"That is only his sense of kinship and his sympathy for my position as the 'spare', as everyone likes to call it." 

"Yes, but his feelings appear genuine. Here is the chance to know your brother as a brother."

"Very well." Like usual, it didn't take George much to convince Edmund, as it seemed he was merely advocating for the option Edmund had practically decided on already, and helped him to make up his mind. 

The following day, he tells Henry of his decision. Chambers are quickly arranged for Edmund, and after he moves into them, it feels as though everything starts happening rapidly. His father's funeral happens not long after, and afterwards, all the attention quickly turns towards Henry and Katherine's coronation. 

“How was the planning today, Ned?” George asks Edmund. The two are returning to Edmund’s chambers, walking ahead of a number of young men serving the prince. The two had unusually spent the day apart, Edmund instead spending the day with his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, preparing the coronation of Henry and Katherine. While having little to no input on the actual ceremony, he valued his presence in the planning, as well as the time he could spend with his grandmother. 

“It is going well. Everything is certainly on track for the date that has been set.”

“I must admit, I am rather excited.” Unable to completely contain said excitement, George continues. “I know this country has had no shortage of coronations lately as a result of those wars, but certainly not in our lifetime - and for a joint coronation! Oh, how rare that is!”

The excitement builds not just for George, but for everyone at court as the preparations continue. Edmund can not help but share it, despite the disrespect he feels on behalf of his father. While the court, and country, is still of course mourning his loss, he was the King, and all must be put towards crowning his successor. 

The day soon arrives, and the new monarchs are crowned with great joy and festivity. The following days are filled with celebrations, with banquets and tournaments, and Edmund cannot help falling asleep the second his head hits his pillow each night due to how much the events have taken out of him. After a few days he was more than ready for things to settle down a bit - as much as they could with his energetic brother now in charge of things. 

Edmund sits beside the empty seat meant for the King, with the new Queen Katherine, his mother and sister alongside him. Henry has just left to gear up for a joust, and everyone gathethered excitedly waits for this next round of jousting. 

Mary leans towards Edmund, about to murmur something to him. She is interrupted by a woman approaching the pair. It is one of their grandmother's ladies. "My Lord. My Lady the King's mother wishes to see you." 

Edmund's eyes flick over to his mother, who is talking with Katherine. Technically she is the king's mother now, but Margaret Beaufort is still referred to as such by most out of habit. 

"Excuse me." He tells the three royal women, rising out of his seat and bowing to them before following the maid to Margaret's rooms. 

He discovers her in her bed with the fire blazing far too intensely for the pleasant early summer weather. 

"Edmund, come hither." 

"Are you unwell, Lady Grandmother?" His voice wavers as fear grabs him. 

"I am dying." She says plainly. "I do not have long before I am with my son again. And with God." 

"No." He croaks, dropping to his knees and grabbing her hand. "You won't." 

"We all must eventually, my dear. My time is now." She pauses, making an effort of swallowing. "I secured everything I needed to for Harry to succeed, and now I can depart this world." 

"Please, Lady Grandmother. I beg you."

Margaret does not reply. She lays there silently, her thumb gently stroking Edmund's hand. 

"I shall soon slip away quietly into God's arms. I just wished to see you first." Squeezing his hand, she adds. "You would have made a great king." 

"But we have Henry. He will be a good king for England. And Queen Katherine will soon have a son, I am sure of it." Margaret only nods in response.

"Here, I want you to have this." She pulls her hand out of Edmund's grasp and reaches for something on the bedside table, giving it to her grandson. It is her prayer book. 

"I cannot accept this, Lady Grandmother." 

"Take it. I want you to have it. And you shall have my rosary too, but not until I am dead." There is a chuckle to her words, and Edmund accepts the gift, knowing he will get nowhere with his stubborn grandmother. 

"Now go back to the tournaments. It is far too hot and boring for you here. Do not fret about me now, dear, just be sure to pray for my eternal soul."

"I could not leave you!" 

"I command it. Save the mourning for when I am gone." There is a humorous but also serious tone to her words. 

Edmund stands slowly. "Are you in pain, my Lady?" 

Margaret shakes her head. "No, my dear." She grabs his hand, bringing to her lips and kissing it. "I am at peace." 

"Very well. I shall do as you say. But I will come visit you tonight. And tomorrow, too. For now, I will leave you be."

"God bless you, Edmund." 

He bows to her and takes his leave. Understandably, he is no longer in the mood to attend a joust, and instead goes to the chapel. That evening, Edmund is about to visit his grandmother again when the door to his chamber opens, and a page announces, “The Princess Mary.”

Not bothering with formalities with his closest sibling as he finds his cap and puts away Margaret’s book, he tells her, “I am sorry I did not return to the joust. George tells me Henry-” He trails off as he looks at his sister and sees her glassy eyes and firm lips in the dimming light. 

“What’s wrong?” He prays she will not say what he already knows she will. 

“Grandmother is dead.” She says shakily. 

Edmund stands there in shock. He was just about to visit her, but now she's gone. Sensing Mary's grief, he takes his mind off his own briefly to hug her. The two stand together in their embrace for some time, tears flowing freely. While not having a normal relationship with their grandmother due to their royal status, they had both cared for her deeply. Not to add, the time they had to prepare for her loss was significantly shorter than they had for their father, and they had barely processed the fact Margaret was dying.

"She asked after me earlier and told me she knew she would soon leave us. I didn't want to believe her." 

"She told me too." Edmund whispers. 

The celebrations of Henry and Katherine's coronation were halted for Margaret's funeral, with a few weeks of mourning before life returned to what Edmund assumed to be the new normal; Edmund and Mary attend their lessons while Henry lives merrily as the new King. 

Once the court ceases its mourning for Margaret Beaufort, Edmund continues to wear black robes for both her and the late King of his own choice. It is, therefore, to his annoyance a few weeks later when George insists the prince should wear something bright and vibrant for the banquet the King has prepared.

"Why should I, George? What is so special about this particular banquet? Can I not continue mourning my father and grandmother?"

George is fidgeting on the spot uncontrollably. "Because we are to be the cause of this banquet, my Lord! The King is investing us with new titles!"

Edmund raises an eyebrow. "An investiture? And how are you so sure of this?" 

George shrugs nonchalantly. "I may have heard people whispering about it." He returns to his jumpiness. "So you must wear something other than your mourning robes, Edmund!"

"Oh, all right." Edmund is persuaded into wearing a crimson tunic with black hose. While George quivers with excitement at the prospect of a peerage, Edmund is rather indifferent to the event, assuming it will be another earldom or barony to add to his ever growing list of titles he cannot keep track of. 

They attend the banquet and, not soon enough for George, he is invested by the King as Earl of Nottingham. Then it is Edmund's turn. He kneels before his brother, murmuring, "Your Grace," as he does so. 

"Prince Edmund," Henry says. "I have decided to strip your title of Duke of York, as I hope that in due time I shall have a son of my own to hold the position. In its place, I shall grant you two new peerages." He picks up the sword, placing the blade on each of his brother's shoulders as he continues.

"Prince Edmund Tudor, I hereby name you Duke of Somerset and Earl of Richmond."

Earl of Richmond. It takes Edmund a while to process it, and he spends most of the banquet thinking about the new title. Being Duke of Somerset again doesn't bother him, as it was the title he was given at birth, and had held until Prince Arthur died. It belonged to his great-grandfather, and he understood the significance of it, but Earl of Richmond was also a family title with much more importance to the young prince. It belonged to both his namesake grandfather and his father. And to his grandmother. He reaches his hand under the table and into the pouch tied around his waist. Inside is his grandmother's rosary. As he fiddles with the beads, his mind drifts to what Henry said. In due time I shall have a son of my own. He is conveniently interrupted from his thoughts when Henry stands and gestures for everyone at the table to remain seated.

"I have an announcement." The grin on his face is uncontainable. "My beloved wife, Katherine, is with child." He looks down at her, smiling at her with his features full of pure love and devotion. 

There are a few cries of congratulations, Your Grace! and England shall have a prince! before Elizabeth of York, sitting opposite Edmund, stands and raises her cup of wine in the air. "To Queen Katherine!" she declares, to which the table follows. 

After Edmund has raised his goblet as a toast to the Queen and nibbled at his selection of courses, he excuses himself from his seat to find George, who is located further down the large banquet table. By now, many are up and about, dancing and socialising, and Edmund slides into a seat beside his friend. 

“Lord Somerset.” George grins when he notices him. 

“Lord Nottingham.” Edmund chuckles back playfully. 

“Look who has finally returned to court.” George slouches in his chair and picks up his cup of ale, pointing towards two young men chatting together amongst the people gathered. “Your cousins, the Poles. They were sitting near me during the feast. I believe Lady Pole is now one of the Queen’s ladies.” 

“That is rather fortunate of them,” Edmund comments. “They have been in poverty since Sir Richard’s death.” While he agreed with his father on most matters, leaving the Poles penniless after Richard Pole’s death was not one of them. His eyes fall on the two young men. Both are older than him - around George’s age - and stand together, distanced from the others, as if unsure how to approach court-goers. 

“Excuse me.” Edmund stands and leaves George at the table who shrugs and continues with his meal. 

He approaches his cousins. “Henry. Arthur.” He greets them in age order as he reaches them, the two bowing their heads with a cordial, “Your Grace,” in return.

“I’m glad you have all returned to court.” Edmund smiles at them. “May my brother’s reign lead to new prosperity for your family.” 

“Thank you, My Lord.” Henry says. “I have not seen you for… for quite some time. How are you?” 

It’s clear that Henry’s falter was because the last time they saw each other was before the death of his father, when Edmund was barely five years old. The prince decides not to dwell on it, for the sake of pleasant conversation.

“I am well, cousin. And I believe you have younger brothers now too? And a sister? Are they staying at court now also?” 

“Yes. But our mother believes they are not ready to attend such events yet, so it is only Arthur and I at the banquet.” Henry says. As if summoned, Edmund notices Margaret Pole making her way towards the trio. 

“Lord Somerset.” She curtsies to Edmund. He bows his head in return. 

“Lady Pole.” Edmund suppresses the funny feeling caused by Margaret addressing him by his new title. He had grown so used to “Lord York”.

“You have certainly grown since I last saw you, Your Grace. I am glad you are well.” Margaret speaks with a motherly fondness for the young boy. 

“And you, Lady Pole. I hope to see you often at court. Although, I hear you are now a member of the Queen’s household, so I am sure I will.” Edmund responds to her with the same kindness. Their polite conversation continues on for a few more moments before Edmund bids them farewell and returns to George, who is watching the dancing.

“No need to stay with me, Edmund. Go and do Prince stuff, whatever that may be.” George claps merrily along to the lively tune being played.

“I’m too tired,” Edmund grumbles, “I’m retiring to my rooms.”

George stops his clapping. “But this banquet was for you. You cannot leave now.”

“I’m sure the King won’t mind. He probably wouldn’t even notice I left. You can stay here.”

Realising Edmund has made up his mind, George shrugs. “Alright.” 

Edmund is off, escaping the excitement of the Great Hall, and returning to his chambers. Closing the door to his bedchamber and sitting on his bed, he lets out a tired sigh. While he is sure that he will grow used to this new liveliness in the court eventually, for now it is taking all the energy out of him, and he collapses back onto the bed, overcome with fatigue. 

Remembering the rosary on his person, he fumbles around his tunic, looking for the pouch to find it. He sits up, running the garnet beads through his fingers. Some would claim that the item was too feminine for a boy of his rank, but Edmund did not care. It was his grandmother’s, and now he holds her title. Earl of Richmond.

Rising from the bed, Edmund moves towards his desk, Margaret Beaufort’s prayer book carefully placed on one side. Gently, he sets down the rosary beside it, his palm brushing over the book. He stands in quiet contemplation for a few moments. His bed calls for him, his tiredness all-consuming, but he decides it can wait a little longer. He picks up the rosary again and kneels at his prie-dieu, deciding instead to pray. Edmund prays for his father and grandmother, for the King and Queen, and the health of their child. But most of all, he prayed for stability. After these past few months, it was what he craved most.


	3. December 1509 - February 1510

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England eagerly awaits the birth of King Henry and Queen Katherine’s child, praying that it will not have the same result as the Queen’s previous stillbirth.

December 1509

Snow fills the gardens of Greenwich Palace, but that does not bother the young children joyfully running through them. Edmund and Mary, having stumbled upon Arthur Pole rejoining his siblings outside, decided to accompany him, leading to the seven of them running around together, throwing snowballs and coming up with little games. Even the older boys join in on the mischief, Henry and Arthur - seventeen and fifteen respectively - slinging handfuls of snow at their younger siblings. 

For Edmund, events like this had become a common occurrence. As Henry eased into kingship, and Edmund grew used to his new position, his days were often filled with energy and joy. The times when the Pole children were at court led to similar scenes of the cousins playing together, however when they were not, there was certainly no shortage of noble children to play with. It was definitely a nice contrast to Eltham.

Margaret Pole approaches the children as they all pile onto Reginald, his gleeful cries emanating underneath them. “What are you all doing?” She teases, her words making them all topple off him, as if trying to hide what they were just doing. 

“Look at you!” Her playful tone hides her annoyance at the state of her children. Reginald’s clothes are damp and wrinkled, his cloak hanging carelessly off one shoulder, while Ursula’s small gable hood has come off, wisps of light brown hair escaping their pins and wildly flying around her head. Noticing her daughter's bare head, Margaret quickly searches for and retrieves the discarded hood. “You will catch a chill if you stay out here,” she says at the exact moment Geoffrey sniffles.

“Sorry, Lady Pole.” Mary says as she adjusts her headdress which, unlike Ursula’s, had remained on her head. 

“Oh, it is quite alright, dear.” She crouches down and brushes the snow off Reginald’s back. “But you should all come inside and clean up now. It is getting dark.”

“Yes, Lady Mother,” Margaret’s five children all parrot back together and follow her inside, Edmund and Mary behind them. The Poles are taken to their rooms to be cleaned up, their cousins deferring to their own rooms to do the same. 

“Do you think they will be scolded for playing with us?” Edmund asks.

Mary lets out a laugh. “Stop worrying about everything, Ned! Lady Pole is just concerned for her children. Geoffrey and Ursula are very young; she does not want them to become ill. Mother would do the same for us, I am sure of it.”

Returning to his rooms, his grooms help him change into fresh clothes and drag the chair at his desk in front of the fire. By now the misty light coming through the window comprised the last moments of daylight, causing Edmund’s face to be illuminated almost entirely by the fireplace before him as his grooms worked to light some candles in the room. As he warms up from the outside cold, he thinks about what Mary said, glad that her resentment of their mother is slowly fading. Over the past months, now living at the same place as the dowager queen, Edmund and Mary had spent more time with Elizabeth of York who, as she adapted to life with her son on the throne, slowly turned back to the mother Mary remembered from her early childhood; the mother Edmund never knew. With this growing relationship, Edmund is eagerly awaiting this fast approaching Christmastide. The pain of spending it without the family members he has lost this year is surpassed by the joy of the new relationships he has made, as well as the excitement of what is to come. 

The week passes quickly, and Advent leads on to Christmas. When not attending mass, the court spends their time in a state of festivity, lively and full. By now, Katherine is heading towards the last stages of her pregnancy, her swollen belly on show for all to see. Henry, like always, is proudly showing it off, as if to say look at me! Look at how happy and secure we and our family are! Nobody dares to mention the stillborn boy she delivered last year, satisfied that this will be a healthy, live birth. And while they do not speak of it publicly, Edmund knows the expectant parents fear the worst. He prays daily for the health of the queen and his envisaged nephew.

January first ushers in a fresh wave of celebrations atop of the twelve days festivities, Edmund once again being swarmed with a number of gifts, including a new riding saddle from his mother, and a black and white spaniel from his brother. In return, he gives the King a dagger for hunting, the hilt emblazoned with the letters “H.R.” and studded with emeralds. Unsure of what to get Elizabeth, Katherine, and Mary, he presents them each with jewels, them all fondly thanking the young prince for their gifts. 

For George, however, he has a much easier time thinking of his New Years gift. The two are together in Edmund’s chambers, Edmund having just presented George with a chest, which he opens. At first, it just looks like a black cap in the latest style. On further inspection however, he realises it is embellished with the new coat of arms he has taken up as Earl of Nottingham. He recognises the badge immediately, his mouth widening into a grin. 

“I thought you would like to show off your title.” Edmund laughs. 

“Then you would be correct.” George agrees, his eyes fixed on the badge on the cap. Snapping out of his entrancement, he turns and gestures forward the groom standing by the door, holding another similar, but much smaller, chest.

“And for you. I hope you share the same love for it as I do my gift.”

Edmund opens the chest, revealing a small square of gold, the Tudor rose carved onto the front. It is no bigger than his hand, easily able to fit inside a pocket. Not yet entirely sure of what it is, he picks it up, feeling a notch in the metal suggesting he can open it. Doing so, it unfolds into three separate sections with a portrait miniature in each, one each of his mother, his father, and his grandmother. 

A smile teases at his lips, brought on by the sight of the likenesses of his mother and now passed relatives, and by George’s thoughtfulness. “It is lovely, George. How did you manage such a thing?”

“Ah, now that is my secret to keep, Ned. I am glad it pleases you.” Changing his cap to wear the new one from Edmund, George adds, “If you wish, I can have a chain attached to it so you may wear it from your neck.”

“No, that is quite all right. It is perfect as it is.” He sets the present on his desk, planning to find a special place for it later. “Shall we return to the Great Hall? I hear there is a treasure hunt!” 

“Only if you can accept that I’ll win!” George exclaims as he rushes out the room, Edmund quick on his trail. 

The days are filled not just with treasure hunts and banquets, but also with numerous other events. Edmund whispers to George that the excitement is all in part because the Queen will enter her confinement the day after Epiphany, so the King wants her last celebrations before she gives birth to be extra grandiose. Not that anyone is bothered by the elaborate Twelve Days festivities… especially not Edmund, who is having more fun than he has had for quite a while. 

Everything wraps up a week later on Epiphany, the court travelling along the frozen Thames from Greenwich to Richmond, where the Queen has decided to stay for her confinement, with her retiring from the court the following day and beginning her lying-in. Edmund joins the King and other members of the court to bid her farewell, watching from behind as Henry wishes his wife well. As the Queen retreats inside her chamber and her ladies step forward to close the doors, he gets a glimpse inside. He had not seen the rooms since they belonged to his mother, and what he sees now is contrastly different. Through the dim light, he can discern the numerous tapestries and rugs filling the room, making it appear smaller. He cannot imagine what it would be for a woman to experience this during the summer. He whispers his thoughts to Mary, who laughs and says she will tell the Queen when she visits her. 

"Mother would have much to say about it, for she would have suffered through it with Henry and Elizabeth, God rest her soul. What a blessing we must have been to be born in the colder months." 

"Do you fear childbirth, Mary? I do not know much about it, but it sounds rather painful."

"I try not to think about it now while I am young and not betrothed. But yes, sometimes. It may very well become my death." The pair have travelled through the palace and have found a place to sit, below a large window letting in the cold light. 

Edmund frowns. “This baby will not die too, will it?”

“No! You must not think such a thing!” Mary hisses. 

“Just because I think something, does not mean I wish it to happen.” He defends, not liking Mary’s tone. “I hope the Queen has a healthy baby, no matter whether it is a boy or girl.”

“And with God’s help, that is what will happen.”

As January creeps on, Edmund can sense the anticipation of everyone around him. Even after twenty five years, there are still plenty of people who are against his family holding the throne, and surely Katherine giving Henry a son less than a year into his reign would be a sign to those people that God smiles upon their house. And so Edmund prayed. 

Other younger brothers might have scorned the chance of them losing their position as heir presumptive, but Edmund did not mind. Growing up at Eltham in the aftermath of his eldest brother’s death, the crown always felt distant to him, the possibility of him holding it negligible. While as a Tudor, he sees himself as having a rightful claim to the throne, he also sees that it is God’s will for the crown to belong to his brother and his heirs, adding to his contentment at his current position. It is clear to those closest to Edmund that he has no desire to retain his position as heir, nor feel any disappointment at losing it. With a son, his family will regain the security they had felt at Edmund’s birth, and that is what Edmund wants most of all. 

Despite this, a few weeks later, when George tells Edmund that the Queen is about to deliver the child while he prepares for the day, there is a tension caused by the uncertainty of what is to happen. After making it through his lessons for the day, Edmund joins George in the Great Hall, where many are eating their afternoon meal. Sliding into an empty seat beside George, he scoffs down some meat and cheese, much to George's amusement.

"I did not realise Latin could be so famishing." He jokes. 

Edmund rolls his eyes playfully. "My Latin has been perfect for years! And you are quite the glutton yourself, George, I do not think you can amuse yourself over my eating habits." 

"But I will anyway." George grins. 

Edmund is about to ask if there are any updates on the queen, but there is no need as King Henry enters the hall, all attention turning towards him. 

From the sheer delight on his face, it is clear it's good news. Mary follows him, wearing a similar expression. 

"My wife has delivered a bonny princess! Both are doing well." The people gathered fill the hall with a congratulatory murmur, their joy over the successful birth evident. Henry does not hang around for long, waiting no more than a minute before he heads back towards the queen’s chambers.

"Come, George." Edmund says, his eyes on his sister. The pair weave through the people, who are eagerly filling the hall with gaiety as they wait for the king's celebrations to begin. Reaching Mary, they move aside to speak together privately. 

"The child is small, but the midwife has no doubt she will thrive. Henry hasn't decided on a name yet, but…" Her smile grows. "I think he may name you as Godfather, Edmund." 

George chuckles. "You best not drop her at the christening then, Ned! Don't want to start another civil war!"

Edmund ignores George's teasing. "Me? Why not you?" 

Mary shrugs, not bothered by it. "Henry has known who the godparents would be for weeks, he just did not want to tell you until the child was born. Our mother and the king of France are to be the other two." She pauses to laugh. "The girl is not yet an hour old and already Henry is thinking about future marriages for her! I think he is trying to get on King Louis's good side. Queen Anne may very well soon have a son to betroth our niece to." 

Edmund believed that with her history of losses it was unlikely, but this was not the time to discuss such matters. He is too excited at the thought of the new Tudor princess.

That evening, Edmund is eating supper in his chamber with George when the king enters.

"Edmund! I want you to come meet my daughter! She is so lovely. Come quickly!" In place of his usual kingly requests, he asks Edmund with what is almost childish excitement, practically dragging him out of his seat. Edmund has not yet had the chance to meet his niece, her having spent the past few hours with her nurses and parents. As the brothers approach the nursery, he is filled with growing anticipation. 

She is asleep when they enter, free of her swaddling bands and nestled in furs. 

"Look at her. She is the most beautiful creature on God's earth." Henry gushes.

Taking his eyes off the tiny princess before him, Edmund looks to his brother. The only other time he believed Henry to be this happy was on his wedding day to Katherine, but even that paled in comparison to the delight on his face now. There was no disappointment over the child's sex, only adoration for her.

"Katherine and I have decided to name her Margaret." Henry says proudly. "She will be christened shortly after Candlemas." Wrapping his arm around him and patting Edmund on the shoulder, he adds, "and you shall be godfather!" 

Edmund smiles, pleased with the choice in name and the confirmation that he will be her godfather. 

"Thank you, Your Grace. I would be honoured." 

"And she will soon have her own household established at Eltham. I would have kept her here, but our mother insisted on Eltham. She convinced me it was best.” He chuckles to himself. “She is already helping me to select all the household members.” 

“I am sure Margaret will be happy there. As we were.” 

Upon the sound of her name, Margaret begins to stir, her grizzles alerting her wet nurse nearby. As she picks up the infant, Henry motions to the door. 

"Let us leave the women to their work." He tells Edmund as they exit the nursery.

For the christening, Edmund wears new clothes that must have been made in record time for him; cloth of gold and crimson, enhancing his position as brother to the King. Meeting his mother before the ceremony, he finds her in polite conversation, in French, to the French ambassador, who is standing in for King Louis. She too wears gold, however hers is paired with deep blue. In her arms is Princess Margaret in her christening gown, wrapped in purple furs. The three, as godparents, are to walk together during the procession to the Church of Observant Friars, with Elizabeth carrying the princess. While not as exuberant as the christening of a Prince of Wales, Henry still wants to show off his new daughter and her status. 

The entrance to the church is brilliantly decorated with jewels and gold cloth, a hint of what awaits them inside. Edmund takes it all in with complete awe, leading the procession up to the font. Little Margaret does not fuss as she is removed from her warm furs and her tiny body is exposed to the cold, and Edmund watches with pride as she is blessed by the Archbishop. 

Afterwards, the princess is presented to her parents in Katherine’s presence chamber, the Queen sitting up in bed wearing cloth of gold, the King beside her in complementary gold and white. Edmund watches as Margaret is handed to her mother, unable to take his eyes off his niece who has already stolen his heart. Eventually dragging his eyes off her, he looks to Henry and Katherine, both visibly filled with adoration and pride for their daughter, and the young prince prays to himself that he may one day experience the same joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Margaret’s christening was based loosely off accounts of Prince Henry’s (b.1511) and Princess Mary’s (b.1516) christenings. I’m not sure how far it would have been from Richmond to the Observant Friars, but I think that is what happened for Prince Henry’s christening, so I decided to go with that anyway.


	4. March 1510 - February 1511

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a year of joy for Edmund, delighting in his new niece, and later learning that Queen Katherine is once again with child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dates relevant in this chapter for those who don’t know them:  
> \- Easter Sunday 1510: 31 March  
> \- Death of Prince Arthur: 2 April  
> \- Edmund’s Birthday: 21 February  
> \- Annunciation Day: 25 March

March 1510

It is a week before Easter, and while the weather shows no signs of warming up any time soon, the sky is clear, prompting Prince Edmund and King Henry to practice archery outside at Greenwich Palace. It is a skill Edmund has not yet mastered, so his brother takes it upon himself to assist him with his technique and help him improve. 

Edmund releases the arrow, it firing into the target slightly off centre. Henry nods approvingly as he loads his bow. “Not bad, brother.” He shoots effortlessly, the arrow lodging itself directly into the centre of the target. 

Masking the hint of jealousy he feels at Henry’s perfect shot - he is my senior, of course he is more skilful! - Edmund selects another arrow, a small smile on his lips. 

“I hope it is not long before my archery matches yours. Then perhaps we may hunt together!” 

“I look forward to that day!” Henry watches Edmund release another arrow, this one striking closer to the centre than the last. “I predict it will not be long until that day. I can see I am an excellent tutor!” He chuckles. 

“Your Grace.” Edmund and Henry look in the direction of the voice. It comes from a page boy with his attention on the king, so Edmund turns his attention back to his bow. 

“Her Grace, the dowager Queen, has returned.”

Henry nods his acknowledgement, handing over his archery equipment. Edmund does the same and follows his brother, keen to see his mother. Once Queen Katherine had been churched, the court moved to Greenwich, with Elizabeth of York staying behind to ensure Princess Margaret’s household was established and that her granddaughter was well. 

They meet Elizabeth on their way inside. "Lady Mother," Henry says warmly, kissing her on the cheek. "How is my daughter?" 

She speaks as they continue to head inside, their steps slow. "She is quite well. Myself and the other ladies in the nursery have begun to call her Peggy, and she seemed to enjoy that." 

"Princess Peggy?" Henry says, more to himself, with amusement. 

"We have a lot of Margarets, but not a lot of Peggys, Henry. Maybe the moniker is not such a bad idea." Her voice is light and cheery, clearly not bothered by whatever name her granddaughter will be known by.

"I think it is sweet." Edmund pipes up. 

"As are you," Elizabeth smiles, her hand stroking her youngest child's chin. "I'm glad to see you two spending time together."

Henry grabs Edmund's shoulder, giving it a playful jerk. "I was helping him to practice his skills on the bow! He soon may be better than me!" 

"He is a good tutor." Edmund laughs, repeating what Henry had said earlier.

Henry too let’s out a laugh. “Of course I am!” 

Easter arrives quickly, the court observing it with all the necessary devotion, and then some. While Henry leads the celebrations of the resurrection of Christ with a fresh liveliness, Edmund is reminded of the previous Easter, exactly two weeks before his father’s death, leaving him with an underlying melancholy throughout the week. He spends more time with his mother, who shares his feelings, especially with the anniversary of her son’s death at the turn of the month. 

“Do you think of who he would have been as King, Lady Mother?” Edmund asks his mother as they walk to Elizabeth’s chambers from the palace church. He looks up at her as she responds; although only eleven, he stands only a few inches shorter than Elizabeth, quickly catching up to the tall height she inherited from her parents.

“I do. Quite often." She looks at Edmund fondly. "I wish you had the chance to know Arthur. We raised him to be the perfect King, and I know he would have been." 

Now inside Elizabeth's antechamber, the pair sit together, one of Elizabeth's ladies coming up to pour them some wine. Holding her cup in her hand, Elizabeth gazes off as she speaks, considering her words.

"Your father was worried about Harry becoming King. He didn't think he was suited to it like Arthur was." Her eyes go back to Edmund, who is sipping from his cup, listening intently. "Thus preparing him for kingship became a task of the utmost importance for me. With all the stress it took for your father to secure his reign, I had to do whatever I could to help him feel secure." 

"And Henry is a good King? You prepared him well?" Edmund asks the question as a confirmation, already expecting a yes. He has not heard anyone complain about his brother, and they all seem happy, so, presumably, that would mean he is a good King?

"I believe him to be." Elizabeth smiles, taking a sip of wine. "I must admit, with him on the throne, I am reminded of my childhood, when my father was King. Harry certainly is my father in character." 

Edmund listens to his mother intently. He has, of course, learnt about his ancestors, but hearing about them from someone who knew them personally is far better, and he always values these moments more than anything he learns in his history lessons. 

“I pray God will one day allow me to know my brother.” Edmund says with equal parts seriousness and hope. 

Elizabeth’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath, her chest appearing to shift only slightly under her bodice. “I pray for that too.” 

Although a mass is held for the late Prince, there is little to no disruption to the usual goings of court, the focus instead placed on the anniversary of Henry’s accession to the throne, which occurs with the same level of grandeur as all the other celebrations that have already happened in the young King’s reign. 

Spring passes pleasantly for Edmund, and in midsummer, his brother grants him permission to journey to Eltham and visit Princess Margaret, now referred to by most as Peggy. Joined by George and the usual royal escort, especially due to his young age, they head off to see the six month old princess. 

"How is my goddaughter?" Edmund asks the ladies tending to the princess as he and George enter the nursery. Despite his age, his height and tone leave a sense of command in the room, and Edmund cannot help the elated feeling it gives him as the source of authority.

"She is growing strong, Your Grace. We have just replaced her swaddling bands." With a bow of her head, she adds, "I shall fetch you and Lord Nottingham some ale." 

As she leaves the room, Edmund and George move towards the cradle where another woman is checking to make sure Peggy is comfortable. Satisfied that she is content, the lady pulls up two chairs for the pair and retreats into a corner of the room, out of earshot but still close enough in case the princess needs her. 

The two boys sit, each able to now get a good look at the newest Tudor Princess. Now six months old, her eyes have begun to change from the typical newborn blue to a shade more on the grey side, and Edmund can clearly see some small tufts of bright red hair appearing on her head. Physical traits that are to be expected given her pedigree, however still pleasing to see. 

George chuckles to himself. "She is far more handsome than my nephew," he says with a joking tone. His older brother, the Earl of Derby, welcomed his first son in spring the previous year. 

"Why of course!" Edmund laughs. "She will grow up to be the most beautiful princess in all of Christendom, surpassing even my own sisters."

"You sound rather sure of yourself." 

"I am her godfather, I have no doubt at all as to who she will be." Edmund takes the chance to boast about his status as godfather yet again, his tone cheerful. 

He turns to the lady still in the room. "The Princess is well? She is healthy?" 

"Yes, Your Grace. She is growing fast. We have no concerns about her health." Edmund takes the last comment as a good sign; no one would want to say such a thing about the daughter of the King unless they were certain, lest they be blamed for any illness that does befall her.

"I am glad to hear it." Peggy's eyes meet Edmund's, filled with curiosity. At that, Edmund decides he must come visit his niece more often. 

\--

Edmund lays awake in bed, the candle beside his bed illuminating the room gently. The windows are all shut to prevent ill vapours entering his bedchamber, however the air is so still that it feels to him that even if the windows were open, no malignant odours would make it to him. 

Fed up with his discomfort, he kicks off his blankets and rises from his bed, throwing on a cloak and slippers, and taking the candle with him as he leaves the room, it now securely places inside a small lantern. Perhaps a walk would do him good, he decides.

He wanders through the halls of Westminster, his steps echoing in the silence. The silence is suddenly broken by the sound of a familiar laugh and voice. 

"I expect only the best! I cannot have any inaccurate readings!" Two men round the corner, coming into Edmund's sight. It is King Henry and Thomas Wolsey. 

Wolsey bows his head. "Your Grace." He wishes the King goodnight and heads in Edmund's direction, pausing to nod his head to the prince, murmuring a polite, "Lord Somerset." 

"Edmund, you are still awake?" Henry asks.

Edmund lowers the lantern, encasing Henry's face in shadows. "It is so warm in my bedchamber, I could not possibly sleep." 

For a brief moment, Edmund expects his brother to order him back to bed, but instead Henry nods in understanding. "Very well then." 

A pause. Henry almost looks uncertain of what he is about to say. "Would you like to accompany me, in that case? I plan on stargazing." 

His uncertainty then makes sense to Edmund; astronomy is a topic the young King is very passionate about, yet not something he has shared much with his brother. It is likely he worries he will make a fool of himself, Edmund decides. Trying to put him at ease, he says, "Only if it would please you." 

Henry smiles. "It would." With that, Edmund follows him to an area of the palace Henry frequently visits in private to stare up at the sky for hours. It’s a small outdoor area, with a balcony overlooking the garden below, also allowing for a perfect view of the sky above. Edmund folds his arms and rests them on the balcony stonework, looking up. The sky is clear, and while it all looks like an unstructured spattering of stars above him, Henry looks mesmerised. 

“You have never been one for astronomy, have you, Edmund?”

Straightening himself, Edmund replies slowly. “I, of course, have a strong admiration of the heavens. However the astronomy part of it has never been too much of an interest for me. While I am sure God has left signs for us in the skies, the way we can find them is far too complex for me.”

“Then we tell somebody else to find them.” Henry says, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “I have asked Wolsey to find me the best astrologer in all of Europe so that he may devise a natal chart for my daughter.” With a slight chuckle, he adds. “As you know, my previous astrologer told me she would be a boy! So it is up to Wolsey to find me a man who will not make the same mistake again just to please me!” 

“Again?” Edmund asks.

“Certainly, brother. Katherine tells me she is with child again! God has truly blessed us.”

“That is wonderful news, Henry!”

Henry beams with joy, his hands excitedly tapping against the stone railing. “I have dreamed of having a nursery filled with my own children. Perhaps that dream shall come to fruition.” 

“I will pray for you, brother.”

Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, Henry tells Edmund, “I ask you not to speak of it yet. Katherine and I will announce it this week.” Edmund nods, mumbling an agreement as Henry removes his hand, returning his gaze to the sky. The pair stand together in comfortable silence for a while longer until Edmund decides it would be best for him to return to his chambers. Henry bids him goodnight, and the younger of the brothers heads back to bed, the air in his chamber only slightly less stuffy than it was before he left. 

The following morning, George sits on Edmund’s bed as he prepares for the day, resting lazily against one of the bed posts. George complains about the weather, to which Edmund agrees, commenting on how he could not sleep the night before. It is not until the grooms have cleaned up and left the two boys alone that Edmund casually comments as he tugs at the cuff of his undershirt, “the Queen is with child again.”

“Again? My Lord, they are not wasting time making an heir, are they?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, waiting for George to rise from the bed. “The King tells me he is hopeful to one day have a nursery full of children. But also that we may not speak of the pregnancy until it is formally announced.”

“Then I am afraid we are guilty of treason, for we are speaking of it right now!” In response to his joke, Edmund gives George a slight shove, making him stumble into the door to the room with a slight thud. The pair laugh off the interaction like the boys they are. 

The leaves are just beginning to change colour when Henry’s new astrologer arrives, revealing that he believes the Queen is carrying a boy, and gifting the King with a natal chart for the infant princess. 

“I am told my Peggy will be very confident and intuitive!” Henry beams as he discusses the results with Edmund and Mary over supper. “But she may also be egotistical with a bad temper! Imagine that!” He laughs. “I guess time will tell. May God help her future husband.”

“As for my son!” Henry adds. “I wonder if it be true, or if men are once again telling me what I wish to hear.” 

“I have no doubt Katherine carries a son. And Wolsey says this is the best astrologer in Europe! I am sure he would not lie to you, Harry.” Mary says assuredly. Henry nods, agreeing with his younger sister.

The rest of the year is filled with excitement for the expected prince, and political talk about France and the Vatican. Edmund does not entirely understand the issue, however knows enough to have worries that Henry will do something foolish. Although he has expressed interest in an Anglo-French alliance, Henry is just as devout as Edmund is, and with his admiration for Kings successful in war such as Henry V, Edmund knows his brother would side with the Pope against France in an instant if given the chance. 

His mother, Elizabeth, tells him not to worry about such things, and that she will ensure Henry does not make any poor decisions. Trusting his mother, Edmund ignores the issue, sure that it will disappear by itself. Underneath it all, he is relieved he is still young enough to be seen as a child and not capable of dealing with such issues. 

The war in Europe is soon forgotten as Queen Katherine prepares for her confinement in November, Henry organising elaborate events to entertain the Queen before she dutifully retreats from the public eye into her chambers, ready to await the birth of her next child. 

Despite the absence of the Queen in the festivities, the court still celebrates with great merriment, the twelve days passing quickly. They however come to an excited halt when Edmund is woken as dawn breaks by the sounds of canons. He sits up, confused, until George bursts into the room, announcing the hoped for news.

“The Queen has delivered a son!”

Edmund leaps out of his bed, overcome with excitement. “A son?”

George nods, unable to contain himself. “Yes, Ned! A healthy prince!” The sound of the door opening causes him to pause his ramblings, and two groomsmen enter the chamber, carrying fresh linen. 

“You must change quickly, and come to the Great Hall! Everyone is celebrating the prince!”

“After my morning prayer,” Edmund says, voice stern. Turning to the grooms, he tells them, “I shall wear my finest cloth of gold today. As well as some green and white, in honour of my family, as I believe to be necessary on such a day.” 

One of the men bows his head in acknowledgment of Edmund’s request and exits for his wardrobe while the other prepares the fresh undergarments. 

Edmund smiles, sensing his friend’s impatience. “Go, George. I will meet you out there soon. I pray you do not drink too much wine.”

“I cannot make any promises,” George says as he swipes off his cap and gives Edmund a quick bow before hurrying out of the room. 

Before long, Edmund is exiting the chapel of Richmond Palace and heading towards the sounds of chatter and rowdiness. At the head of it all is Henry, proudly sat on his throne observing the event, the seats beside him designated for his close family empty save for the one seating his mother, Elizabeth of York. 

Edmund walks towards Henry, who soon after spots him, and watches him approach. “Congratulations on the birth of your son, Your Grace.” Edmund says as he bows. 

“Thank you, brother. Another Tudor Prince! There is no doubt that it truly is God’s will for us Tudors to hold the throne of England.” Henry’s eyes flick over to Elizabeth briefly, before returning to Edmund. “And so our new Prince shall be christened Henry, for our father, the man who made all this possible.”

Edmund bows his head, crossing himself as he thinks of his late father. “His legacy will continue, God rest his soul.” His demeanour brightens, “God save Prince Henry!”

“God save Prince Henry!” Henry declares, raising his goblet. All those gathered in the Great Hall repeat the cheer, also raising their cups. 

Excusing himself, Edmund seeks out George, who is gathered with a group of courtiers. While the others bow their heads in respect to Edmund, George holds up his goblet cheerfully. “Are you proud of me, Ned? I am not drunk yet!” 

With an exasperated look, Edmund pushes down George’s raised hand. “You certainly are not sober either.” He doesn’t show any disappointment in his behaviour; this is a worthy event to celebrate. 

Edmund is offered a cup of watered wine and he takes it, nodding along to the gossip George tells him. His eyebrows narrow as he notices a familiar figure - his sister - dancing with a man who Edmund cannot identify. His protectiveness for his older sister taking over, he watches the couple intently, waiting for the man to turn so he may see his face. 

“Edmund?” George had asked a question, but Edmund wasn’t paying attention. Following his eyeline, George spots Mary dancing in the crowd.

“She looks fine to me, Ned.” George says right as Edmund identifies her dance partner. 

“She is dancing with Charles Brandon,” he growls, thrusting his cup towards George and storming off in their direction. 

George rushes up to him, grabbing his arm, “Your Grace, what are you doing?” 

Without taking his eyes off Charles, Edmund mutters, “He is a married man! One with a new mistress every week! I will not have him dishonour my sister like that.” 

“Hey!” George tugs on Edmund’s arm, forcing the prince to look at him. “Princess Mary is an intelligent young lady, she would never do something so shameful. And Brandon is a favourite of the King, do you truly think he would take the King’s sister as his mistress? They are only celebrating the birth of the prince, that is all there is to it, Ned.” 

Edmund stands silently for a few moments, thinking over George’s words. With a sigh, he realises he is right and takes back the cup of wine. “I do not want her to come to any harm. She means a lot to me, George.”

“I know,” George says comfortingly. “But I am sure she knows how to take care of herself.”

Prince Henry is christened a few days later with great pomp and proudly showed off to the court before everyone moves to Westminster, where the King has a number of great tournaments and pageants planned to celebrate the birth of his son. Elizabeth of York once again puts it upon herself to travel to Eltham with her new grandchild and ensure they are settled into their new household. 

“I believe I will stay a small while longer than necessary,” Elizabeth tells Henry and Katherine, the latter of whom, recently churched and back to normal court duties, cradles her son in her arms. 

“I miss my granddaughter. I will take this chance to spend more time with her. Perhaps we shall bring both children to court in the summer if there is no plague.”

Katherine nods, unable to hide the tears in her eyes as she hands over the infant to the wet nurse. “Take care of them both for me, Your Grace.” 

Henry wraps his arm around Katherine comfortingly. “We shall see our children soon, my dear. Once the weather warms, we can go to Eltham ourselves.”

“I know how you feel, Katherine.” Elizabeth says. “I regret not seeing my younger children more often. I pray you may be able to.”

“Your Grace?” Elizabeth turns. “We are ready for you.” Curtseying to her son and daughter-in-law, Elizabeth departs, making her way outside and to the stables, the wet nurse following. 

It is not until the day after Edmund’s twelfth birthday that Henry and Katherine receive news from Elizabeth, which quickly spreads throughout court. 

“My Lady Mother says she wants to be away from court for a while, and will stay at Eltham until Annunciation Day at the earliest.” Edmund tells George, who is sorting through some of Edmund’s older jewellery as a result of the influx of it he received for his birthday.

“And your niece and nephew? They are both well?” George asks.

Edmund’s face breaks out into a grin. “Mother says they are both thriving, and that Peggy loves her little brother.” 

George sits, mirroring Edmund’s happiness. “I am glad to hear it.”


	5. July 1513 - September 1513

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> English pride grows at the news of Henry’s victories in France, however the Scottish threat in the north grows, as does Edmund’s concern for his mother, Elizabeth of York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me how this chapter got written so fast because I don't have an answer. It just happened.

July 1513

Making the trip back to Greenwich from Eltham, there is a sense of patriotism in the air as Edmund passes the common folk that frequently gather to see him and their future King, Prince Henry. Accompanied by his mother and George, the trio are returning from Eltham with the young royal children at the request of their mother. With their father now in France in an effort to rekindle England's old claim for the French crown, Katherine was made regent for the country, with one of her first requests being a simple one; "bring me my children." Already being at Eltham visiting Peggy and Henry - now affectionately known as Hal - the Queen's request was easily carried out, Edmund, Elizabeth and George quickly moving the children's household back to Greenwich. 

Arriving at Greenwich in the late afternoon, Katherine warmly greets her children, crouching down to hug her daughter, and taking her son from Margaret Pole, now the Countess of Salisbury, having recently received one of her ancestral titles, and made Governess to the royal children. 

"How are you, Your Grace?" Margaret asks. "You are well?"

Katherine nods, stroking Hal's hair, "I am quite well, Lady Salisbury, if only fatigued. I believe I am more than capable of fulfilling my husband's wishes as regent for England, however I am sure you will understand when I confess how tiring it is to carry a child in my womb who is always active kicking and wriggling about." 

Margaret chuckles, "I am afraid so." She reaches down to pick up Peggy, tugging her linen cap forward so it fully covers her bright red-gold hair. "It shall be worth it soon, my Lady."

Katherine's pregnancy was announced just before the young King had departed for France, this being the first since the birth of Hal two and a half years prior. The knowledge that he may very well soon have another son - a Duke of York - fuels the growing English pride Edmund had witnessed on his way to and from Eltham, with the common people eager to back their beloved King as he fights in France and obey their adored Queen as she carries his child. 

The two women head inside the palace together, Edmund, George and Elizabeth about to follow. The boys start, however George pauses as Edmund does, noticing Elizabeth's pace has slowed. 

"Lady Mother? Are you all right?" He notices her skin is paler than normal, and reaches for her arm.

"Yes, Edmund. I just need to rest." She gives his hand a comforting squeeze before releasing herself from his grip and slowly resuming her return to the palace. 

"Then I will walk with you." Elizabeth shakes her head, but Edmund takes her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm. "That is not a suggestion, Mother." 

The pair return to Elizabeth's rooms, George trailing behind at a respectable distance. Only recently beginning the major growth spurt of his adolescence, Edmund had crept up to Elizabeth's height, quickly on his way to surpassing hers and reaching that of his brother's, and so Elizabeth's hand rests comfortably on his arm with the equal height, her appearing only slightly taller from behind due to her gable hood. 

"You rest," Edmund orders. "Do not stress about anything with the Queen or the children, I can handle it." 

Elizabeth takes the cup of ale one of her ladies has offered her, "I do not have a choice, do I, Edmund?" 

"I only want to make sure you are well, Mother." 

After ensuring that Elizabeth is comfortable, and offering to fetch her physician (to which she refuses), Edmund leaves her be, returning to George who is waiting outside. 

"I would say you worry too much, but Her Grace did seem quite faint. Is she exempt from fasting?" 

"I believe the King requested it last year, but I cannot be certain if she allows herself to use it." He fiddles with the cuff of his undershirt. “I shall speak with the Queen about it. After I ensure Lady Salisbury has the Prince and Princess settled into the nursery.” 

George recognises Edmund’s restless hands and his overly formal tone as signs of his nervousness. “You cannot force her to abstain from fasting, my Lord. I pray you do not stress over things you have no control.” 

Edmund nods, still tugging at the cuff of his shirt. One of the dark threads embroidering the end has come loose from his frequent fiddling, and he twirls the short thread between his fingers. “I fear she may worsen, George. Mother hides it, but I know she has been this way for some time now, how can I not worry?” 

Without giving George a chance to say anything, Edmund adds, “I am going to the nursery, I will see you later.” 

Entering the nursery, Edmund spots Katherine and bows, “Your Grace.” 

Katherine holds out her hand for Edmund to kiss. “I apologise for not greeting you earlier, my Lord. You are well?”

“Most well. And you are too, I hope?” 

“Uncle Ned!” Edmund looks past Katherine to see his three-and-a-half year old niece, Peggy, running towards him. Sensing that she is about to jump at him, he holds out his arms, ready to catch the princess. 

“Peggy!” Margaret scolds, her attention turning away from tucking Hal into bed for a nap.

“It is quite alright, my Lady.” Edmund laughs, kissing Peggy’s cheek. “My darling, it has not yet been an hour since I last saw you, surely you do not miss me so much?” 

“Lady Margaret wants me to sleep,” Peggy whines. “But I am not tired!”

“You should listen to Lady Salisbury,” Edmund says, but is cut off at the end by Peggy’s shout. 

“No! I want to play!” 

“Margaret!” Her Governess’s voice is firmer than last time, and she does not shy from showing her disappointment in the princess in front of her mother. 

“I want to play too!” Little Hal calls out, squirming out of the tight bedding the Countess had tucked him into only moments ago. 

“It’s quite alright,” Katherine smiles. She takes Peggy off Edmund. “I would be delighted to spend some time with my dear children, for that is why I asked for them to be brought to me. Would you like that, my dear?” 

Peggy nods, and Katherine holds out her hand for Hal, who scurries out of bed and to his mother. Turning to leave, Katherine pauses and turns back to Margaret, who is watching the three with an amused expression.

“Oh yes, Lady Salisbury. Your youngest children are here. I have called them here, and organised for them to stay at L’Erber unless you decide otherwise. You have been such a good caretaker for my children, I thought it best to bring you yours while you are in London.” 

Margaret’s face lights up, and she drops into a curtsey. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She rises once Katherine has left the room and turns her attention to Edmund. 

“Will you accompany me, Your Grace? I know you are close with my children.”

Edmund nods in agreement, holding out his arm to escort his cousin. Margaret smiles fondly as she takes his arm. “You certainly have grown into a respectable young man, Edmund.”

Outside, Edmund and Margaret find her two youngest children, the older two currently in France, and Reginald at University. Geoffrey and Ursula greet their mother pleasantly, bowing and curtseying to both her and Edmund in greeting. 

Edmund does not spend long with the Poles before he leaves them be, however he enjoys the brief time he spends with his cousins, laughing along with eleven-year-old Geoffrey as the pair joke about the mischief they got up to the last time they were together, and keenly listening to eight-year-old Ursula as she excitedly rambles about how her birthday is next week. Edmund promises to buy her a gift as he leaves, his mind mulling over what he will buy his young cousin. In the end, he decides on some ruby jewels, which she adores. 

The joy and pride felt in England as Henry sends home words of their success in France is strong and powers the court, however Elizabeth of York does not share it. 

“I fear this will not end well for England.” She murmurs one afternoon to Edmund. The pair are in her chamber, and Elizabeth sits beside her open window, taking in the warm air. Although it is obvious to Edmund that her condition is the same, she refuses to speak of it, denying there is anything wrong. 

“Why do you say that, Mother?” Edmund asks, pouring some more wine into her cup. “So far we are victorious.”

Elizabeth shakes her head. “Our treasury is depleting. And Scotland looms in the north. I have faith in my daughter to keep us safe, however not her husband. I do not doubt that he may choose the Auld Alliance over ours. And if that is the case, King James may very well invade. Wh-” She stops herself from continuing on with her nervous ramblings, not wanting to share them with her son. 

“What? You think that if Scotland invaded we would not win? They are barbarians, of course we would be victorious. And that is only if they are foolish enough to invade.”

With a breath, Elizabeth says. “And if they do, we have a King in France, a Queen too far gone with child, and you are too young to command an army.” 

“Mother.” Edmund rests his hand on hers. “Why be so negative? You must have faith.” 

Elizabeth’s words, however, prove to be somewhat true when, a week later, Katherine receives word from King Henry in France, and from King James in Scotland. 

The letter is rushed to the Queen, who sits in the nursery with her children as well as Queen Elizabeth, Princess Mary and Edmund. 

"King James invades. The fool has written to warn us." She reads out his letter, which details his plans of invasion. "He has chosen France over his own brother." She lowers the letter, her hand rising to cover her mouth. "I pray for Queen Margaret." Words which Mary, Edmund and Elizabeth mirror in their pained expressions. 

A moment of contemplative silence passes. Just before Katherine can begin to give orders, Elizabeth rises from her seat. "I will lead the army north and ensure the Scots are defeated." 

Katherine's mouth opens, a response vanishing from her lips in her disbelief. "I could not ask that of you, my Lady. Forgive my boldness, but you are in no state to do such a thing. I-"

"And neither are you. You are far more valuable to England than I, Your Grace. My white rose withers away while your pomegranate blooms and proves its fertility. I will not allow you to risk yourself and my grandchild." 

"Lady Mother, you cannot go!" Mary argues.

"I agree!" Edmund adds, glancing down at Hal who has appeared at his feet, gesturing to be picked up. He pulls him onto his lap. "You could barely handle the trip from Eltham, how are you supposed to ride that far north?"

"Your words will not convince me," Elizabeth says, lips pursed. Looking to her children, she adds. "You would so willingly risk your Queen because you fear for me?"

"You forget who my mother was." Katherine scoffs. "Such actions do not fill me with fear, but with determination. Henry left me in charge of England, and so it is up to me to protect it." 

"We do not have time to argue about this. Just know that I will not allow you go," Elizabeth snaps, dipping a small curtsey and leaving the room. Peggy confusedly asks her mother what is going on, but she doesn't have a proper answer.

That evening, Edmund encounters his sister Mary rushing towards him, a panicked expression on her face. 

“What is the matter, sister?” 

Mary pauses to catch her breath before rambling all in a rush. “Mother is riding north. I do not know how it happened. She had a private audience with the Queen, and somehow she convinced her she would go. I surely believed Queen Katherine was more stubborn than our own mother in this, but I am wrong. I cannot bear to see her do this.” 

“I will ride with her.” Edmund says immediately. “She has given me no other choice. No matter how much she denies how much she has weakened, it does not make it any less true. I will stay with her and ensure she is well and returns home safely.” 

“I thank God Surrey has been put in charge of all this and not her. I fear too much for her already.” Mary looks visibly relieved at Edmund’s words, yet still quivers with tenseness. “She has already given up so much for England, and now, even in her widowhood, she still chooses to do so.” 

Edmund nods. “Father certainly had picked the right Queen. I shall prepare to ride north.” He steps forward, taking his sister’s hands in his own, their eyes level with each other. “Do not fear, sister. I will keep her safe.” 

And so it is decided; Queen Katherine will remain in London, while the dowager Queen will accompany the men to battle. Edmund wakes early the morning of their departure, right as the first rays of sunlight stream into his room. As George, now twenty years of age, had been summoned by the Queen to be one of the many men to ride north against the Scots, Edmund prepares himself without his friend’s usual banter, and he is keen to get outside and find him. He spots him in the Great Hall where many are gathered, ready to depart. 

It is not until a few hours later that those at court are ready to ride out, Edmund sitting atop his horse beside George and Elizabeth. Many that are staying behind see them off, with Katherine giving some final motivating words, reminding everyone that they are only facing the Scots, and it is a sure victory. 

As the men depart, Katherine approaches Elizabeth, Margaret Pole hovering behind her with her children by her side, bleary eyed but full of excitement at seeing off the men. 

“Take care, Your Grace. I pray I will not regret my decision.” 

Elizabeth shakes her head at Katherine’s words. “You won’t. Just focus on my grandchild. We will return soon.”

“Be careful!” Ursula calls out. Edmund notices she is wearing the rubies he gifted her for her birthday around her neck, fiddling with them between her fingers. “I will pray for you all!” 

Margaret smiles down at her daughter, brushing the veil of her gable hood over her shoulder where it had caught before looking back at her cousins. “Godspeed.” 

The journey passes quickly, yet the days feel slow. Fed up with her son’s well-meaning constant checking of how she is doing, or if she needs a litter, or a rest, or some ale, Elizabeth welcomes their arrival eagerly, convincing Edmund that she is well as she settles into the tent. 

Over the next few days, news and updates are passed to Elizabeth and Edmund, who refuses to leave her side. Despite her show of energy at the scenario before them, Edmund can still see there is no colour in her cheeks, and that she tires easily. It is therefore a relief for him when the day of the battle is set; with the surety of this victory, he can get his mother travelling back home in a matter of days. 

Edmund watches the men ride up to the field, a spark of excitement in him at watching the battle unfold, until they disappear out of sight. While not sharing the same lust for war as his older brother, he certainly held a desire to fight in battle, just as his father and grandfather did. 

“Edmund, come away from there.” Elizabeth says, taking a goblet of wine from one of the few ladies waiting with them in the tent. Edmund has a refusal on his lips, however he quickly changes his mind and obeys his mother, retreating inside the tent and taking a seat beside her. 

The waiting is agonising for him. “Next time,” he says sternly, “you will stay in London, and I will fight.” 

Elizabeth suppresses a chuckle, smiling into her goblet at her son's words. “If that be what you wish.”

The tense hours pass, Elizabeth spending most of it in prayer, which Edmund soon joins. Finally, the sound of horses galloping towards them grows louder, and it is George who enters the tent, dropping to his knees, ragged from battle. “Your Grace, we are victorious. King James was slain in battle, and we have won!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was good, because while the first 75% came easy, the end part was actually pretty difficult (I was really worried about making sure it seemed realistic, and this is something I don’t know as much about), so I'm not sure if it really ended up that good or not. Oh well. Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
